


London's a Mess, But We're Holding On

by beeberry



Category: AR∀GO ロンドン市警特殊犯罪捜査官 | Arago
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-06-03 11:57:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 16,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6609811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beeberry/pseuds/beeberry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles and one-shots I've written for memes and prompts on Tumblr for the ARAGO fandom, including a lot of crossovers.  Chapters are (mostly) in order that I posted them on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Avengers crossover, Bucky is a child, Steve's his dad, context? What context?

“All set, buddy?”

“All set, Dad!” Bucky hefted his backpack and beamed up at his father.

“Whoa, take that smile down a notch! You’ll blind me,” Steve joked, shielding his eyes before swooping down to pick up his son. Bucky giggled, latching onto Steve’s neck.

“Aren’t we a little early?” he asked.

“Yeah, a little bit. I wanted to meet your teacher before classes start.”

Bucky pulled back to give Steve a look. "Dad,“ he said seriously. "You’re not going to try and intimidate my teacher are you?”

“What? Noooo. What gives you an idea like that?”

“Babysitter. Pre-school teacher. The other babysitter. My piano teacher-”

“Okay, so I get a little worried. That’s what parents do.”

“Normal parents don’t threaten to hunt people down if they start messing up their kid’s self esteem, Dad.”

Steve made a face and planted Bucky in the car seat. "If they have nothing to worry about, they won’t be intimidated,“ he said, buckling Bucky in and hurrying to the front seat. Bucky rolled his eyes. He would just have to step in if Steve got too intense. The second babysitter had nearly burst into tears, which Steve had felt bad about even though he refused to admit it.

“Here we are!”

“Please act normal, Dad.”

“I am the epitome of—“

“Abnormal,” Bucky interrupted, giving Steve an accusing glare. “You’re Captain America, Dad.” He didn’t mention that he was lucky Steve even got a day off for his first day of school, or that he could go to school at all. He wouldn’t be able to tell anyone who his dad was, or his best friend because Steve was both.

“Listen, buddy,” Steve started, putting an arm around Bucky’s shoulders. “I know it’s hard. But you’ll get through it. I want you to have friends your own age, have fun.”

“But you always say Tony is the same age as me.”

“That’s an expression. One that I should probably stop saying where you can hear. Come on, let’s go.” Steve grabbed Bucky’s backpack from the back seat and they headed into the school. The halls were empty, clean and bright, walls empty in anticipation of the new students. Bucky’s shoes squeaked against the floor. Steve gave it two weeks before that floor would be scuffed beyond recognition.

“This is the room!” Bucky ran forward, stopping just short to peer around the doorway. Steve came up behind him and knocked on the open door.

“Hello?”

A man with white hair looked up from where he was staring intently at the teacher’s desk, hands splayed on top of it to hold himself up. Oddly, he was wearing gloves. A smile spread across his face, and he said, “Welcome! You’re kind of early.”

“I wanted to meet you before classes really started,” Steve said. “Get to know you a little.”

“Yeah, I get it. Arago Hunt.” He held out his hand and Steve shook it, subtly eyeing the large scar stretching from underneath Mr. Hunt’s glove.

“Steve Rogers,” he returned. “And this is Bucky.”

Mr. Hunt knelt down as Steve guided Bucky out from behind the doorway. “Nice to meet you, Bucky.”

“You from London, Mr. Hunt?”

“Yeah, moved over just a year ago.”

“What made you come across the pond?”

“Dad!” Bucky interrupted. “You promised not to interrogate him!”

Steve held up his hands. “I’m just asking some friendly questions! Right, Mr. Hunt?”

“Don’t worry, my brother was a cop. I know a thing or two about interrogation,” Mr. Hunt told Bucky with a wink.

“He worked at Scotland Yard?” Steve asked.

Mr. Hunt nodded. “One of their best,” he said proudly, though his smile was shaky.

“Cool! You know, Dad fights bad guys, too!”

“Well, I do what I can,” Steve said quickly. “Kids,” he added to Mr. Hunt, who smiled understandingly.

“What do you do?” he asked.

“Oh, I work in homeland security,” he said, smiling. “It gives me pretty good leverage, you know, in making sure Bucky stays safe—“

“Okay!” Bucky shouted. “Time to get going, go fight the bad guys.” Bucky shoved at Steve’s legs.

“Alright, alright, I know when I’m not wanted. He has this thing about me talking to his teachers,” Steve explained. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“Not really, no.”

“So do you mind talking just a bit more? I’d just like to know some basic things, you know, how long you’ve been a teacher, why you chose it, what you would do if a gunman came into the school, that kind of thing.”

“Dad,” Bucky groaned, but Steve was watching Mr. Hunt intently. He didn’t laugh nervously like most of Bucky’s teachers, like Steve couldn’t be serious.

“This is a primary school, so I’m pretty sure Bucky won’t be in a whole lot of danger. I don’t tolerate bullying, either. I’m young, but so are you.” He shrugged. “Whether I match up to your expectations or not, you’ll be able to tell when classes start.”

For a moment, both men sized each other up. Mr. Hunt didn’t back down, even though Steve had a good four inches on him in height and more than that in his broad shoulders. The man had an air of lean strength and cockiness to back it up. Steve wasn’t sure how that would hold up with a bunch of six year olds, but if he didn’t back down from Steve, he might stand up to a potential attacker, too.

“One more question,” Steve finally said. “I hope you don’t mind I did some background checking, and there’s a few years where you just fall off the grid. What happened then?” He didn’t miss how Mr. Hunt’s shoulders stiffened.

“I spent a few years chasing—“ He cut off, glancing at Bucky. “Hey, do you want to go ahead and pick out a seat? The other kids should be getting here soon.”

Bucky shot across the room, sliding into a seat at the back of the classroom. Mr. Hunt didn’t continue until he was out of earshot, lowering his voice. “I chased my parents’ murderer.”

Steve started. He knew Mr. Hunt had been orphaned at a young age, but the records showed his parents had died in an accidental house fire. Had someone started the fire? Was there a cover-up or had the culprit simply never been caught? Any testimony from Mr. Hunt or his brother would likely have been easily dismissed because of their age. So he asked, just as quietly, “Did you catch him?”

Mr. Hunt dipped his head, as if weighing his words, and grabbed his right arm as if it hurt. “Yes. And it cost me my brother.”

From down the hall began to echo the bang of the front doors and the squeak of small sneakers on linoleum. Steve didn’t ask any more, for now. He stuck out his hand and said, “Thank you for speaking with me. I should get going.” Mr. Hunt accepted the handshake.

“See you at three, Dad!” Bucky hollered.

——

Bucky’s first day went uneventfully. So did the second and the third and the fourth and the fifth. After a month, Steve felt almost comfortable with the whole thing. He was only late once. They had to send an agent chasing after him or he would have shown up to the school in uniform.

“Sorry I’m late!” he’d puffed, stumbling out of the car.

Mr. Hunt was sitting with Bucky on the sidewalk, eating a chocolate candy bar. “No problem,” he said, ruffling Bucky’s hair as he bid them goodbye. Just like the first day, and every day since, he was wearing black gloves. Maybe he was sensitive to the cold, Steve thought, before getting caught up in what Bucky had done that day and what to cook for dinner and how he was going to have to go in early tomorrow to fill out the report he’d skipped out on to pick Bucky up.

“I’ve never seen Mr. Hunt eat anything but these candy bars,” Bucky told him somberly. “Nobody has. He’s always telling us to eat healthy and all he eats is chocolate.”

“That’s just a snack,” Steve said, merging into traffic. “The teachers eat in the staff room while you have lunch, right? You just don’t see him eat anything else.”

“Nuh-uh.” Bucky shook his head. “Suzy had to go to the office during lunch one time because she spilled ketchup all over her shirt, and she said he was still eating candy bars. She overheard Mrs. Pengleton telling him he should eat ‘something proper,’ too! Hey, Dad, what does ‘arse’ mean?”

Steve nearly wrecked the car. “Where did you hear that? From Mr. Hunt? Bucky, that’s a bad word, don’t repeat it.”

Slouching down in his seat, Bucky complained, “Why are there so many words adults can say that kids can’t?”

________

When Steve got the call from the school, he thought Bucky might be in normal first-grader trouble. Maybe he’d repeated ‘arse’ to the wrong teacher (or any of the other words he’d learned from Tony). Maybe he’d gotten in a fight. It wasn’t until his third thought that he wondered if Bucky might be in real danger, and by then he’d said hello and Mr. Hunt was speaking in his ear.

“I thought you might want to know that, well, there was an incident here just now, at the school.”

“What kind of incident? Is Bucky okay?” Steve asked, already signaling to Natasha. The debriefing could wait. She grabbed the keys before he could and lead the way to the car.

“Nothing to worry about,” Mr. Hunt assured him. “Well, I mean it’s probably something to worry about, but nobody got hurt. Well, except for the guy who tried to kidnap Bucky.”

“Someone tried to kidnap Bucky?”

Natasha climbed in the driver’s seat and hit the gas before Steve had even gotten the door closed.

“Yeah, that seemed to be their motive. Bucky is fine, here.”

There was a shuffle before Bucky’s voice came over the phone. “Dad! You should have seen Mr. Hunt today!”

Somewhat muffled by distance, Steve could just hear Mr. Hunt protesting, “Wait, don’t tell him about that, you’re supposed to just say you’re okay!”

“He beat up the bad guys just like you!” Bucky completely ignored Mr. Hunt, talking over him. “He was, it was amazing. I think he moved even faster than Miss Natasha, Dad! Lightning fast, like whoosh, whoosh!”

“Bucky,” Steve said, strained. “Are you alright?”

“Duh, I’m totally fine! Mr. Hunt defeated the bad guy before he could do a thing! He was so cool, you should get him a job.”

“A job?”

Natasha glanced over at him, raising an eyebrow while pulling around a turn at least twenty miles too fast.

“Yeah, with you! To beat up bad people and save the day, he’d be great at it!”

“Uh-huh. Put him back on the phone, please.”

Steve could hear Mr. Hunt cringing when he took the phone back and said too brightly, “Kids!”

“I want every detail, Mr. Hunt. Every detail.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> things you said when you thought i was asleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon-compliant, AraCoco

Maybe it’s from all the nights Arago spent fighting supernatural dangers alone, Coco muses, that he never seems able to settle into a reasonable sleeping schedule. She’s not a light sleeper, but she’s not particularly heavy either, so when Arago sits up in the wee hours of the morning she wakes up, too. It’s a few hours before she would normally wake up, but even earlier for Arago. If he got up, she’d be worried and call out to him, but he’s not moving so Coco doesn’t bother to even open her eyes. It’s early and the bed is warm and comfortable.

For a minute, Arago just sits against the headboard. His breathing is a little shaky, Coco realizes. But when his hand brushes feather-light through her hair it is steady.

She doesn’t hear the words at first, just the slight vibrations through his side. Her mind is still fuzzy with sleep, but as she becomes more awake and aware, she can hear him if she focuses.

“Please stay safe,” he whispers like a mantra or a spell. He’s curled sideways over her head, voice rough from sleep. “Mo grá gea, stay safe. Mo grá gea, don’t leave me.”

Arago startles when Coco reaches her hand up and brushes his face. “You were awake?”

He’s still whispering, and Coco’s voice is just as quiet and sleep-laden when she whispers back, “I won’t leave you.” She sits up, pulling Arago back down, kisses his cheek. “I love you. Arago, I love you.”

Arago buries his face into her shoulder. They curl around each other and ignore the rising sun.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> School for the magical, superpowered, and the not fully human sucks about as much as regular school.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Percy Jackson and the Olympians crossover, AU, Arago Hunt/Nico di Angelo

The new student teacher is a bit of an idiot. He knows his subject (Basic Fae Politics 101, separate from Civics and Economics and further into four years of classes for obvious reasons), but he fumbles over how to communicate it in ways that humans and demigods like Nico can understand. He’s rude and coarse, easily flustered, generally late, and really, really hot.

He smiles like the sun and literally makes flowers grow whenever he touches dirt. His power shines like a rainbow with more colors than the average human can see, never mind the satyrs and centaurs, but they and the dryads loved him because his power was life. He was Nico’s exact opposite. Except that he wasn’t.

Nico sense it more than saw. Mr. Hunt had brought in flowers that meant something to fae, curses and spells of protection different than what human wizards used. He pulled off his glove and picked up a seed. It sprouted as soon as he touched it, grew and bloomed while Mr. Hunt talked about how the seeds could be crushed and used in poison curse, which was why being sent one of the blooms was generally seen as a death threat. When the flower had bloomed completely, Mr. Hunt dropped it into a pot and quickly pulled his glove back on, as he always did. Normally, the plants Mr. Hunt grew with his touch lasted a long time after he dropped them at peak condition. But this one had started to wilt. It was too subtle for most to notice, but Nico was the son of Hades and he’d spent enough time with his stepmother to know a thing or two about plants as well as death.

If Mr. Hunt had poured life into the flower, why was it dying?

The question drove him nuts for weeks. Mr. Hunt wasn’t all that well-liked because of his attitude (so different from his brother’s, the other teachers whispered), but he was sincere and his power was life. Stigmas about the origins of power weren’t as bad as they used to be, but Nico still got more nervous glances than friendly hellos in the halls. Percy told him he kind of encouraged it and Nico couldn’t deny that, but no one understood what it was like. Death magic was still rare, unsightly, unwanted. The one person who should have understood the most hardly acknowledged Nico’s existence.

When Nico ran into Mr. Hunt on the street, blood on his shirt, he couldn’t help asking. “Why did the flower die?”

Mr. Hunt jerked, looking around to see who else had heard. He looked at Nico and Nico could see the lie on his lips. Nico’s own mouth twisted. He should have known better, but Mr. Hunt stopped.

“Because I killed it,” he said softly and Nico knew it was the truth.

“But how? You’re power is life. You don’t mess with death, that’s–”

“Not here,” Mr. Hunt said. He brushed past Nico and whispered in his ear as he passed, “Follow me. But be discrete.”

Nico shivered and turned. Mr. Hunt was hardly more than a flash, twenty yards up and away vaulting over a rooftop. Following was an easy choice and Nico simply walked into the shadows and out onto the rooftop – nearly running right into Mr. Hunt. Nico thanked and cursed the gods for the growth spurt that had hit him last year and put him nose to nose with Mr. Hunt while his teacher backpedaled.

“I wouldn’t tell this to anyone but you,” Mr. Hunt said after coughing awkwardly. He stared at his gloved hand, the one with a scar that started somewhere underneath and stretched nearly to his elbow. “This power I have. Everyone knows it’s rare, which is why not much is known about it. Life isn’t… It’s not something easy to use.”

Squatting down, Mr. Hunt pulled off the glove and picked up a weed poking through the gravel of the rooftop. It grew, stretching in his hand, and Nico watched carefully. He felt as it began to die, withering from vibrant green to brown in Mr. Hunt’s hand until it broke apart, brittle and definitely dead.

“When I first got this power, I didn’t know what it was. So I thought it was something bad. Do you know why I wear gloves, Nico?”

Nico startled when Mr. Hunt turned his gaze back on him. Why? A lot of people wore gloves for a lot of reasons. Nico shook his head and Mr. Hunt stood up again.

“To prevent me from touching anyone. Too much life overloads a body and causes harm. If I touch a healthy person, I burn them.”

“So you can’t touch anyone? Ever?” Nico asked. His mouth felt dry. He stepped closer to Mr. Hunt who shook his head. He smiled, but it was sad, forced.

“Everyone thinks it’s amazing. And I don’t really mind, not being able to touch people. There aren’t too many people left who’d want to touch me. The price for this power…” Mr. Hunt grabbed his forearm, the scarred one. Nico noticed not for the first time that it was a few shades darker than his other arm, and thought of an awful new possibility as to why.


	4. The Clod and the Pebble, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: reincarnation + secret agents/spies  
> Seth finds a way to try things from a different perspective. Removing Oz from a lifetime of pain has nothing to do with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU, Seth Stringer/Oswell "Oz" Miller

One would think revolution would be easier from the inside. To have grown up within the government, within it’s secret depths, to know those depths like nothing else. But it’s not. Revolution is a thing in storybooks and history books, in French novels and plays that Seth reads late at night when he’s not too exhausted to lift the pages and lessons that take a back seat to fae politics and Judo training.

The first time he sees Oz (the first time these eyes see this Oz, he thinks later, more accurately) his heart skips a beat like he’s falling in love and a life flashes before his eyes like he’d always heard (feared) happens before you die, but it’s not his life, not the one he’s been living for the past 18 years.

And suddenly he knows he wasn’t supposed to be here, be him, be an agent of Albion, the Queen’s last defense against the supernatural dangers they keep hidden from the people. Oz was.

He’s standing across the street from Seth, laughing, and there might be people (friends, not comrades/family) next to him but Seth’s vision has tunneled, all he can see is red hair and that smile and the lack of pain behind it, the lack of scars. Oz’s skin is smooth. Seth brushes one hand over his other arm where a particularly nasty ogre got him three years ago, one of many markers his lifestyle has left on his body that will never fade.

Words stick painfully in his throat, just like they always do, war cries and protests and questions, but this time he doesn’t even know what he can’t say. His heart aches for Oz, for the comfort of his presence that suddenly he remembers. His heart aches for the life he has lived and for the life Oz didn’t have to this time and he turns around and walks away. Oz’s laughter carries on the breeze and echoes in Seth’s ears for a long time until he can’t stand it anymore. The chiliarch sees his face and doesn’t ask, ushers him inside and keeps the others away from his room while Seth tosses every book he owns against the wall and screams his rage against the world and it’s cruelties.


	5. The Clod and the Pebble, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They weren't supposed to meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU, continuation, Seth Stringer/Oswell "Oz" Miller

“Shit,” Seth breaths. More and worse crosses his mind, but it’s tangled up in other thoughts like “No” and “Please” and “I missed you.” This shouldn’t have happened. He shouldn’t have allowed this to happen, how could he be so careless? Oz wasn’t supposed to be here, he lived fifty miles away.

But Oz is here and has hold of Seth’s arm and his heart and he’s staring at Seth. Seth watches his eyes as the memories of their past life flood him. (His life, Seth wasn’t the only part of it, but what’s important right now is Oz’s thumb brushing across his wrist.) Seth jerks back, but Oz doesn’t let go. Oz opens his mouth, and Seth cuts him off before he can speak.

“Let go of me.” He jerks his hand again.

“I know you,” Oz says without letting go. Instead, he steps closer, reaching for Seth’s face. For the scar there on his chin, Seth realizes. It seems to confuse Oz for a moment (that wasn’t in his memories). “I remember…”

“I don’t know you,” Seth lied. “Now let me go.”

Seth was a goddamned trained field agent, he should be able to break the hold of any civilian. He convinces himself he really is trying and Oz just has far too much natural testosterone and a size advantage.

“Yes, you do. Don’t lie to me.” He’s oddly calm on the surface, but his hands are shaking and his aura is wild – confusion and fear born of it and recognition of a loved one – it’s blinding and Seth never wants to look away. It takes him a moment to notice the wind rising around them, to recognize the power. Oz has Orc.

Seth’s first thought is a sort of giddy realization that they’ve swapped lives and how can it be so complete? (He wonders where Arago might be, if Patchman was reborn, too.) The second is that Oz made a contract with a demon. Suddenly it is Oz being grabbed, a fist at the collar of his shirt, shoving him back.

“What did you do?” Seth demands, searching Oz’s face desperately. “Why would you contract Orc?”

“Why did you?” Oz’s response is almost a whisper. His face is solemn and Seth slumps against his chest.

“You fool.” He punches Oz, but there’s no force behind it. Oz still hasn’t let go of his other hand. Oz, for his part, never plans to.


	6. The Clod and the Pebble, Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not all bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU, continuation, Seth Stringer/Oswell "Oz" Miller

Oz wakes slowly to a crick in his neck and the steady rumbling of a train. He shifts before opening his eyes and feels a heavy weight against his side, warm. The lights are blinding when he does crack open his eyes, reflecting against the pitch black windows. The car is empty aside from them, which is to be expected at– 3, 4 am?

Squinting down at Seth is a relief for Oz’s eyes thanks to his dark clothing and hair. He’s still breathing deeply, a limp bag of bones and sinewy muscle and baby-face cheeks squashed against Oz’s chest. Oz resists prodding him. He’d only just managed to get Seth to agree to let him travel with him.

“You have school,” Seth had said.

“It’s the weekend,” Oz rebutted.

“You have no reason to travel to Sugar Loaf.”

“Besides the name? I want to spend time with you.”

“I won’t be much company,” Seth said, looking almost guilty. Oz hadn’t missed the dark circles under his eyes or the pronounced slump of his shoulders. He was jumping from one mission to another.

“I don’t mind,” Oz told him. “And you can’t stop me from following you.”

“Don’t make me.” Seth glowered. They stared each other down. Seth sighed, and Oz grinned, even when Seth poked a finger in his face and warned him, “But if I ever tell you not to follow me, you listen. This mission shouldn’t be too dangerous.”

For the first hour or so, they had chatted, Oz turned in his seat to face Seth. He watched Seth’s eyes flutter until he tipped forward, crashing rather literally into Oz and sleep. With nothing else to do and the time quickly approaching 1 am, Oz had followed suit.

Oz glances at his watch. Yup, it’s after 3, the darkest part of the night. Carding his hands through Seth’s hair, Oz shifts as gently as he can, leaning more comfortably against the back of his seat.

“You’re warm,” Seth murmurs.

“You’re awake,” Oz murmurs back.

“M’not,” Seth says, burying his face in Oz’s sweater. “What time is it?”

“Three twenty-two,” Oz tells him and Seth groans.

“Another hour?”

“Mmm.”

Seth starts to sit up, but Oz wraps an arm around his shoulders and holds him down.

“Go back to sleep. I’ll wake you when we get there.”

“You’re not that comfortable, Oz,” Seth protests weakly, but he’s already sinking back into Oz’s warmth.

“Best you’ve got right now, I’m afraid,” Oz says. “Tell your bosses to upgrade you to first class next time.”

“I’ll make a note to ask Edna,” Seth breaths.

Oz drops a kiss on Seth’s head as he drops off again. At the station in Sugar Loaf, he doesn’t bother waiting for Seth to properly wake up. He does when Oz lifts him, but Oz only laughs at his protests and carries him onto the platform with perhaps three witnesses for Seth to complain about all the way to the hotel where he leaves Oz. He’s back in less than four hours, none the worse for wear (“Banshees are easy when you know what you’re dealing with.”) and Oz drags him out for brunch and they shop for souvenirs to take back to Edna and Fraser and Gil and Tim and Selena. On the way home, Oz forces his sweater on Seth because he’s far too cold. This time they stay awake for the whole ride, quoting bad novels bought at the station in between quips of William Blake.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rio speaks to Ewan, though he can no longer hear her. There are a lot of things he didn't tell her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon-compliant, Rio Butler/Ewan Hunt

The grass is wet, soaking into her boots, while the crown of her head soaks in hot sunlight. It rained recently. The ground is soft and for a moment Rio thinks of hands pushing through the dirt before shaking the thought away.

“There’s a lot of things you didn’t tell me, Ewan.” She squats carefully and plays with the grass. “In your letters. I knew– It was never the same as talking to you, face to face, I knew that, but I thought you would never lie to me. No, well, it’s not like you ever did. I guess there are things that are hard to put into letters.”

Rio thought of the boy who sent her love letters for two weeks, to the six that confessed to her throughout high school. She never told Ewan about them, only told her friends in Japan when they pressed her.

“Arago is doing pretty good, you know. He told you he became a detective like you, right? He’s still stupid and clumsy… and a terrible liar. He’s hiding something from me. From everyone, as far as I can tell. Even Joe, his partner. Does he tell you anything? Or I wonder if he lies to you, too.” Rio scrubbed at her eyes.

“Both of you, hiding the fact that you’re chasing Patchman. You could have told me he was back. You could have said something. You could have–” She broke off. “I understand why you couldn’t stop. But you could have told Arago. You didn’t have to lie to him. Then maybe you’d still be here when I got here. We could have worked together. Even with Arago. He’s better now, you know.” Rio hiccuped. “He’s as much inspired by you as I am, I think. Whatever you said before… you should have said it sooner. You should have told it to me, too. Maybe then I wouldn’t have said those horrible things to Arago.”

Rio stared at Ewan’s grave, letting herself cry. Finally she reached out and brushed her fingers over his name, standing. “Let’s hope I make up with him before I die, huh? I love you, Ewan. Even now. Goodbye.” She wiped her face and walked out of the graveyard.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things are best said under the stars and in the grass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon-compliant, Arago Hunt/Coco Sullivan

London’s skyline is notable for it’s skyscrapers. For old buildings and new and the lights they shine. Coco doesn’t bother looking at the night sky because it’s nothing but darkness hidden behind the orange glow of streetlights.

“That’s what it looks like from the sidewalk,” Arago tells her. “You’ve got to get higher.”

She’s pretty sure they’re not supposed to be on this roof, but she also doesn’t care. It’s covered in green, a garden in the sky. Arago smiles while she exclaims over the daffodils, the first flowers she’s seen to indicate spring is coming (here, according to the calender).

“Come over here,” Arago tells her. “This is the best spot.”

He falls to the ground, throwing his legs out and propping his head in his hands. Coco drops beside him. “How so?” she asks, leaning over him on her elbows.

He brushes her hair back. “You have to lay on your back,” he says, voice dropping to a deep murmur.

She lays with her head on his shoulder and they shift until they’re comfortable.

“Now look,” he says and his voice is still soft, a rumble beside her ear and a caress across the crown of her head. She can only just see his hand raised to point. “That bright star over there is Regulus, in the constellation Leo.” His hand arcs across the sky. “And that’s Orion over there, and Taurus and Gemini. That’s Canis Major.”

Coco reaches up and takes Arago’s hand, allowing him to lead her in tracing the stars.

“Where did you learn all this?” she asks.

“When I was a teenager, I did some traveling,” he says with hesitation. “I spent a lot of time out in the country and I met this old man one time who taught them to me. It’s a good way to navigate when you don’t have a map or familiar landmarks.”

“Did you travel at night? Why not during the day?”

“Well…” Arago is quiet for so long Coco thinks he won’t answer. Finally his chest moves with a deep breath and he answers. “Criminals travel by night more often than by day.”

“Criminals?” Coco processes that for a moment. She knows that Arago’s parents and his brother were murdered, all by Patchman. Ewan was chasing Patchman when he died. Arago was with him. But there’s something about the way he says it that makes Coco sit up and look at him. She isn’t entirely sure he was referring only to Patchman.

It’s hard to see, but Coco can tell he’s watching carefully for her reaction. She settles on the only thing she can tell him.

“Arago,” she says. “I love you.”

His hand comes to rest on her side and she can feel the release of tension and he returns, “I love you.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Families can get pretty complicated when your feathers don't quite match, but happiness is still easy to find.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU, OC, Arago Hunt/Madhushri "Mads" Sahir  
> Arago is an osprey, Mads is a trans peafowl, Erin is a burrowing owl

They found an egg three weeks ago. It was growing cold already. Mads wrapped her arms around it and didn’t let go even as the police examined it for some sign (of damage, of a design that might point to the parents) and when the doctor checked it over while the police made calls and printed signs. The doctor said it would have died if they had found it any later. The police said no one was coming forward to claim it. Madhushri said they would take it. So they did.

“We should paint it with bright colors, like you,” Arago said. “So they’ll be beautiful like their mother.”

Madhushri agreed until she saw the absolute mess of rainbow colors he had painted on the egg. She pursed her lips and tried not to laugh at the paint smeared across his face, and the smile when he showed her was enough. She gently took the paint brush for him and he brushed her feathers (after taking a bath) while she painted delicate designs across the egg (their egg).

Madhushri screamed when she felt the first knock and Arago rushed in. “I think–” There came another knock. “It’s hatching!” she screeched.

“Oh gods.” She expected him to go pale, but though his hands started shaking he was smiling. He tried to hide it behind his feathers and his hands and ducking his head, but he was smiling. “It’s hatching,” he whispered reverently. “Mads, our egg is hatching.”

She grabbed his hands and didn’t let go as they watched their egg rock and crack until their chick was free. A dark, slimy chick looked up at them from the mess of rainbow egg shells. Part of Madhushri identified burrowing owl and baby and mine and ours. She gathered the tiny chick into her arms, sobbing.

“Mads, why are you crying! It’s our baby chick! It’s a girl! She’s beautiful, Mads,” Arago babbled at her. “You did it, look at her. I love you, Madhushri. We have a baby girl.” He was crying, too.

“Erin,” Madhushri said, hiccuping. “Her name is Erin.”

Erin shrieked. She kicked her tiny limbs, stretching out in this big, new world. Arago held her hand and with his other cupped Madhushri’s face, touching his forehead to hers and breathing, “You are the most amazing bird. You’re beautiful Madhushri, I love you so much. I want to spend all my life with you, every minute of every day. I want to raise this chick, our baby Erin with you and tell you how amazing and lovely you are every day, I want to tell you I love you every hour.”

While he talked, Arago pressed kisses over Madhushri’s face, her nose, her wet cheeks, her forehead, her lips. Madhushri laughed and listened to him go on and whispered back, “I love you. Arago, I love you, you’re amazing. I want to spend my life with you, too, oh, Arago.”

They sat on the floor of the nursery laughing and crying and kissing each other until Erin cried for attention and Madhushri sent Arago running for food (”What do burrowing owls eat?” he cried. “Meat or bugs! Meat or bugs! I don’t remember which!”) still laughing with tear stained faces.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After years of searching, Arago finds a way to free Seth from Lia Fail, but he has a long way to go to recovery.  
> Or "things you said when you thought I was asleep."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post-canon, Arago Hunt/Seth Stringer

He starts off with “You’re an idiot,” which just isn’t even worth opening his eyes over. Seth is exhausted, though whether he has good reason to be or not, he’s not sure. A dream like the one Lia Fail showed him should have been restful. The injuries he woke back up to were certainly not.

Seth doesn’t even realize Arago thinks he’s asleep until there’s a slight dip in the mattress and Arago’s presence moves from hesitating at the edges of the room to right above him. The lightest shift against his hair tells him Arago’s (gloved) hand is near his ear, or what’s left of it. He leans over to check his arm, too, and Seth assumes he’ll leave after satisfying his concern over Seth’s injuries. Or perhaps concern is the wrong word, he’s probably more concerned with how good his healing skills have gotten.

But he doesn’t leave. Seth thinks about saying something, or just opening his eyes to see Arago’s face and what he’s thinking. But it’s dark and he can’t see auras anymore and what does he care?

“I didn’t think I’d miss you,” Arago whispers. Seth almost does open his eyes, but instead remains still, breathing even. He sounds almost frustrated. “But I did. I don’t even know anything about you. But you–” His voice rose and he cut himself off. Seth felt him shift, dipping the mattress enough to make Seth’s (normal) hand slide over, bumping into the rough material of Arago’s jeans. Arago stilled. Seth felt something else brush across his fingers (a hand?) and then Arago’s presence was gone, leaving a cold spot on the bed beneath Seth’s hand.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> things you said that made me feel like shit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon-compliant, Oswell "Oz" Miller/Coco Sullivan

He didn’t mean to. Coco knew that.

“You wouldn’t understand,” he’d said with that sad, sad smile.

“I might,” Coco had replied. “We could try.”

“You could never understand, Coco! It’s not something—” he snapped, then stopped. “I just can’t talk about them.”

And then he had walked away. When the door slammed behind him, Coco dropped into a chair. Tears bubbled up in her eyes, and when she thought of how Oz must be feeling – how painful the memories of his comrades must be and she had pushed that on him, had asked too much – they spilled over.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The King of the Summer Court and the Queen of the Winter Court like to spar, but throwing around the kind of power they possess is dangerous, even for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU, Seth Stringer/Arago Hunt  
> Warnings: decapitation, however no one dies

“Arago!” The cry tore from his throat, desperate and clawed, dangerous. He rushed forward. His hands reached for Arago’s face, shaking, and he hesitated. “Say something,” he demanded softly. His voice shook, too. “Say something, Arago, you– You can’t– Stupid, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

Seth picked Arago’s head up carefully, brushing dirt off his cheeks, out of his hair. Blood from the severed neck dripped onto his robes, and Seth didn’t care. He held Arago’s head up, sobs racking his body. “You can’t leave me alone!”

A soft noise made Seth snap open his eyes. Arago’s disembodied head was moving. Blood dripped from his lips as he opened them, unable to make a noise. For a moment, Seth couldn’t move, utterly frozen. Another spurt of blood came out of Arago’s mouth and then Seth jumped into action, scrambling for Arago’s body. He hadn’t even noticed it sit up on its own, reaching for the head. Seth held Arago’s head carefully over the empty neck, pressed them gently together, forcing steadiness into his hands.

Arago gasped and Brionac’s light flared around the injury, knitting the torn skin, sinews, bone back together. He spat out blood, heaving in air.

“That hurt, you asshole,” Arago said after a minute, when Brionac had presumably restored his vocal cords.

Seth hiccuped and threw his arms around Arago. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t– I’m sorry!”

“Careful,” Arago warned. But he wrapped his arms around Seth, holding him and murmured softly into his hair, “I’m fine, Seth. I’m completely fine, I healed, see. You’re okay. Geez, I’m the one who got decapitated, I should be the one crying.”

“I’m sorry,” Seth repeated. “I thought I really…”

Arago shushed him and held him until the tears stopped.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> things you said too quietly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post-canon, Arago Hunt/Coco Sullivan

“I was scared.”

She almost doesn’t catch it, doesn’t think she was meant to, not really. As if Arago said the words accidentally and tried to swallow them back as they came out.

When she turns to him, Arago looks away, but not before she sees the open, vulnerable look aimed at her.

“Did you say…” she asks and let’s it hang.

Arago scratches his ear and replies, “Doing this, it’s dangerous. You…”

Coco reaches up and guides Arago’s head around to face her. His expression eases from almost anger, born of frustration, to concern, to love.

“I’m safe, Arago.” She searches his eyes until she sees him relent, curls himself forward, and Coco tucks herself into his arms.

She doesn’t think she’s supposed to hear him when he whispers, “For now.” He squeezes her. “Forever,” he adds like a plea or a prayer.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hamadayaki said: MAKING CHOCOLATES  
> BECAUSE EWAN READ UP ON JAPANESE VALENTINES  
> AND HE CANT COOK  
> BUT HE TRIES  
> AND BLOWS UP THE KITCHEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU, Rio Butler/Ewan Hunt

The explosion sent Arago rocketing out of bed, reaching for the gun he no longer kept under his pillow.

“Ewan?” he yelled. The sun shining through the window was bright, early. Wasn’t it Sunday, day off? A rare one, for Ewan, for both of them to have at the same time. Arago grit his teeth, rushing into the hallway, about to call again for his twin.

“Everything is fine!” Ewan called, and Arago relaxed. He sounded harried, but not afraid or in pain.

“What are you doing?” Arago called back, following Ewan’s voice to the kitchen. A burning smell greeted him long before he reached it, along with an underlying smell of chocolate. Arago pulled a face. “You better not have touched my candy bars.”

“Of course not. I got my own chocolate to work with.” Ewan looked up and Arago didn’t bother holding in his laughter.

“What happened?”

Everything was covered in a fine coating of white flour. Dark globs of chocolate dotted the counter and Ewan’s front, along with smears of something or other, and what looked like butter on his cheek.

“I was trying to make chocolate,” he said, trying not to look embarrassed.

“Make it? Why?”

Ewan coughed, turning back to the faintly smoking pan sitting on top of the oven. Arago could barely hear him mumble, “For Rio.”

“What for?” Arago asked, wrinkling his nose, but stepping closer.

“She’s arriving today, you know? So–”

“I know that,” Arago interrupted. “But why are you making her chocolate? Just go buy some.”

“Well, today is also Valentine’s Day.”

“So?”

“It’s tradition in Japan to make chocolate for Valentine’s Day,” Ewan answered.

“This isn’t Japan,” Arago said.

“I know that.” Ewan elbowed him. “But I thought it would be nice, okay? It might help her to not feel homesick right away.”

Arago pointed at the smoking pan. “Okay. But that’s not chocolate.”

“I know that. Where did I go wrong? It’s just chocolate!” Ewan said, prodding the dark mass. Arago wasn’t going to call it food.

“Just chocolate? Chocolate isn’t easy to make, you know? You can’t even make pancakes. Shove over. I’ll show you.” Pushing Ewan aside, Arago grabbed the pan and dumped the black whatever it was in the trash.

“You know how–?” Ewan started, then stopped. “Of course you do.”

“Ewan, why is there so much salt? And how much shortening did you use?”

“Exactly what the recipe said. Give or take…”

“That’s why you can’t cook! Look, if you put too much, of course it’s going to mess things up,” Arago said, pushing things off the counter to make space. Empty wrappers went in the trash, and everything else up against the backboard. “What were you trying to make exactly? Show me the recipe.”

“It’s right here, this cake,” Ewan said, picking up the stained cookbook. He handed it carefully over to Arago, who paused, mouth still open as whatever he had been about to say slipped out of mind.

“Isn’t this–”

“Yeah. The same one Dad used to have.”

He waited while Arago fingered the pages, old and worn by some other family who had owned this book for years before leaving it at the second-hand shop for Ewan to find. The green and white cover wasn’t as eye catching as most of the other covers, the gold lettering faded and peeling. But it was the same book that had, every day, been propped up or laid out on the counter, pages spattered with grease and butter and other foods from Dad’s fingers underlining words, checking measurements, making notes. From Ewan and Arago’s fingers pulling at the pages, flipping to their favorite recipes (mostly in the pudding section for Arago).

Finally, Arago said, “So this recipe is…”

“Yeah. Dad made it for Mum, once or twice, I think.”

“No.”

Ewan repeated, startled, “No?”

Arago turned his back on Ewan, dropping the cookbook onto the counter. Ewan reached for his shoulder, but faltered until Arago spoke again. “Dad made it better,” he said, grabbing a pen and scribbling in the margins. “This recipe doesn’t call for enough butter, so you add just a teaspoon more. He added more chocolate, too, because that’s how Mum liked it, but this is probably fine for Rio.”

He stopped when Ewan put a hand on his shoulder, but still wouldn’t look at him. “Thank you,” Ewan said softly.

“She’s getting in at eleven-something, right?” Arago said, voice gruff and soft at the same time. A smile was starting to spread across his face to match his brother’s. “Better get moving or this won’t be done in time.”

Three hours later, they stood in the airport, waiting.

“There she is,” Arago said, elbowing Ewan and raising his hand to wave. Ewan mimicked him and Rio caught sight, waving back and hurrying down the terminal.

“Ewan! Arago!” she called out. When they were close enough, she dropped her suitcase and shared a hug with Ewan.

“I’ve missed you,” she murmured into his shoulder. “And you, too,” she added, grabbing the front of Arago’s shirt and pulling him into the hug, too. Ewan laughed.

“And we’ve missed you,” he said.

Arago added, “Crybaby Rio.”

She punched him, but didn’t bother denying it. She just scrubbed the tears away when she pulled away from the hug.

“Come on, we’ve got the spare room set up for you. You must be hungry, too,” Ewan said, picking up Rio’s suitcase and starting towards the parking lot.

“Ewan has something special waiting for you,” Arago added with a grin.

“Arago!” Ewan flushed.

“Oh? What is it?” Rio asked.

“It’s just a cake. To welcome you.”

“A chocolate cake,” Arago said, dodging Ewan’s elbow. “But I don’t know anything about it.”

“A cake? You didn’t have to, Ewan.”

“I just wanted to welcome you.”

Both of them were flushed now. Arago pretended not to see Rio slip her hand into Ewan’s.

“So can I drive?”

“Absolutely not.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Limb loss is no small matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post-canon, Seth Stringer/Arago Hunt

At least it was his left hand. That’s what Seth told himself something like five times a day. He could still write, still brush his teeth, eat with a fork or spoon. But he couldn’t cut food with a knife, couldn’t lean on the sink. He kept trying and it was like the forgotten last step at the bottom of a staircase, a jolt that went all the way through him. A sudden, brief terror of falling.

He’d stumbled once (among many times, early on, when his body was still remembering how to function) and reached out with his left hand because his right was full of books. He saw in the corner of his eye it’s ghostly shape and took a half second too long to remember it wasn’t solid, it wasn’t real, before it slid through the wall. His stump connected and he crashed to the floor.

For a moment, Seth didn’t move, letting the books dig into his side. His heart thudded painfully in his chest. This was reality, his new reality. He had one hand, one hand only. Pushing himself carefully to his knees, Seth tried to ignore the shaking in his hand. He reached for his books before remembering, again, that the ghostly fingers couldn’t do anything. He watched them close into a fist and resisted slamming it against the floor. Useless, he reminded himself, but that didn’t help.

“Breathe,” he told himself.

And then someone else’s voice called out, “Seth!”

He whirled around, nearly calling for Orc’s power. Arago was on the windowsill, haloed in sunlight. It shadowed his face, made his expression unreadable.

“Are you alright?” he asked, climbing inside.

“What are you doing here?” Seth returned.

“I saw your aura from outside.” Arago dropped beside him and suddenly Seth felt suffocated. He’d lost a hand for God’s sake, not a leg, not even a whole arm.

He didn’t think about the years, the power, the purpose lost. All he was trying to do was walk. His eyes drifted to Arago’s shoulder. He couldn’t see it beneath his clothing: the scar.

“I’m fine,” Seth said sitting back on his heels to gather the books, stack and then lift (they tipped, shifted, almost spilled again), and press them carefully to his chest.

Arago let him rise on his own, but his hand hovered at Seth’s elbow, ready to catch him or the books, whichever dropped first. Seth made sure it was neither and asked coldly, “Did you need something?” He watched Arago’s eyes flicker to somewhere above Seth’s shoulder, seeing something in his aura. Perhaps he was losing control of it. Seth tamped down that fear, forced his mind to still itself. He still had control. He had to.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is dating everyone else and really, space pirates shouldn't be allowed to raise a child, even if she is a golem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU, pale poly  
> Ever heard of the Homestuck love quadrants? That's where the pale comes from. Poly from polyamorous. A chart is available upon request, but basically everyone cares about everyone and most of it is romantic if not sexual.

Space is vast. It is endless, in fact, and as full of mysteries as it is emptiness. It used to be frightening, the kind that inspired men to draw dragons on the blank edges of maps in ancient times. (At least as far as the majority knows, those dragons are imaginary. Albion still liked to keep its secrets.) Now, space had become merely as frightening as the woods or a dark alley. Accessible, easily even, yet still fraught with frightful shadows.

It was home. But for none so much as Elena. She was born on the ship, formed in the womb of space. It was all she knew and all she loved. It was home, but not for the mysteries that reflected her own unnatural birth. It was for the family it contained aboard Brionac, starting with her Da.

“Engine needs repairs,” Arago grunted, stepping into the kitchen covered in engine grime. A nice mixture of oil and rust and grease. “The carburetor is starting to wear down really bad.”

“I thought we just got a new one from that last ship,” Rio said, frowning and looking up from washing dishes. She glanced at her arm. Yup, still had the scar from ripping through the last ship’s hull to get at the engine. Her thick fur pelt protected her from most damage, but she usually only needed to transform halfway.

“It was as worn down as ours,” Arago replied, accepting a cup of water from Coco.

Coco was busy whistling at the garden that provided their fresh food – vegetables, fruits, as well as clean water and air filtered naturally. She said it helped them grow better, the whistling. Rio was pretty sure talking to plants was what most people did, but Coco grew the biggest strawberries she’d ever seen on-board a ship, so she kept that to herself.

“We can stop over at Talgrath. Let Ewan know,” Rio said, gesturing toward the cockpit. Even on autopilot, Ewan liked to be up there. He said it was because it allowed him to grab the controls more quickly if an emergency occurred. Rio thought it was really because he liked looking out the front window. In a romantic mood, she’d say he looked at the stars. More practically, she’d admit he liked to see what was in front of them, where they were going. She swiped at Arago’s face with her sponge as he passed, and he returned with a peck on the cheek that left black stains across Rio’s face before escaping with a laugh.

Arago passed Hugh on the way to the front. “How is the engine?” he asked, pausing to ruffle Arago’s hair. He pulled back with a small spring and a piece of tape, which also took with it a few strands of Arago’s hair.

“Needs new parts,” Arago said, rubbing his skull.

“I’ve got a few spares!” someone called. Arago and Hugh turned to see Lucian dropping down from an upper balcony. Scarlet was behind him, but remained leaning on the railing above.

“Do not,” she countered. “We haven’t got any pieces that’ll fit our engine.”

“We can make them fit!”

Scarlet narrowed her eyes thoughtfully, hand drifting towards the welding torch constantly strapped to her thigh. Arago tried not to follow the motion to the edge of her very short skirt. Scarlet never wore anything long enough to cover her torch even an inch, and it was not the smallest tool.

“That won’t work for the carburetor,” Arago told them.

Hugh brushed a hand through Lucian’s hair much like he had Arago’s, pulling out scraps of metal. “Talgrath should have materials,” he said to Arago. “I believe we are also in need of soap.”

“Those two just don’t bath often enough,” Scarlet called down.

“I just came out of the engine room,” Arago complained, “give me a break. Rio said the same thing, so I was going to mention it to Ewan.”

Lucian put in helpfully, “He’s up front, like always. I think Oz is up there, too.”

All four of them jumped as a voice came from behind Arago, “Is he? I was looking for him.”

“Stop doing that!” Arago yelled, whirling on Seth. The smaller man – youngest of the crew aside from Scarlet, Rio was still betting he would hit a growth spurt and overtake Arago and Ewan, if not Hugh or Oz – merely raised an eyebrow at them.

“Doing what?” he asked innocently.

Hugh sighed, shaking his head. “I’ll get started on dinner.” He patted Seth on the shoulder as he passed.

“C’est cool!” Lucian said, zipping after Hugh. “What were you thinking? Coco just harvested some killer tomatoes – 100 points!”

“What did you need Oz for?” Arag asked, falling into step with Seth. When he glanced up, he caught the end of Scarlet’s braid already disappearing around a corner.

“Just comparing data,” Seth replied. While everyone on board Brionac was a strong fighter, not so many had comparative brains. But Seth did. It was thanks to him and Oz – and the searching efforts of the rest of them – that they had such a complete library of information. And Seth had compiled a good portion before even joining them, enough to gain the attention of Oz’s family. It was all a bit beyond Arago, but the secret organization Albion retained as much power in space as it had had on Earth.

“Anything we need to know?” Some of the information they gathered included dangerous organizations and deadly creatures that stalked not only the various planets they traveled to, but the vast reaches of space itself.

Seth shook his head. “Nothing relevant, for now. Or rather, nothing dangerous, but I think you’ll find Oz’s explanation more entertaining.”

Arago tilted his head, trying to look Seth in the face. He was smiling, so it must be not-bad. In fact, he looked amused.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Arago asked anyway.

Seth only shot him a further smile and opened the door to the cockpit. As he was about to step through, someone beat him to it.

“Elena!” Arago called out as a small, white-haired child zoomed past and into the cockpit with a giggle.

“Good morning, Da!” she said. “Morning Uncle Ewan, Papa, Momma.”

Elena was an intelligent child, for her apparent age of eleven as well as her actual age of three. But no one was totally sure how her naming system worked. Arago was “Da,” and only him. But across the crew she had more than one Papa and Dad and Momma. Momma was not reserved for the women, either. For some reason, Seth was Momma as well as Larry.

Ewan’s rival at the intergalactic officers academy, Larry was a pseudo-crew member of Brionac. He was, officially, against their alleged activities. Unofficially, he was part of the family.

Stepping into the cockpit after Elena, Seth slid a hand over Oz’s shoulders. The red-haired man glanced up from where he had been enjoying a game of chess with Ewan, undisturbed by Elena’s energetic entrance or her new found seat on Ewan’s lap, staring as intently at the board as her Uncle and Papa.

“What’s up?” Oz asked them as Arago came around, leaning against Ewan’s chair and bending over to examine the game. Ewan sat back, brushing against Arago without taking his eyes off the board, arm around Elena to keep her from falling off his lap.

“Engine needs a new carburetor,” Arago told them. He squinted at the board. No matter how they tried to teach him, he could only understand the basics of the game. “Talgrath should have everything we need, and we were passing through there anyway, right? Who’s winning?”

“I am,” Oz said, flashing him a grin. He usually was.

“Not for long,” Ewan grunted, moving a bishop and claiming one of Oz’s knights, and finally looking up at Arago. “That shouldn’t be a problem. Our last haul should have given us more than enough to trade for a decent one this time. Do you think it’s time to upgrade the whole thing?”

“Can we?” Arago smiled. “Me and Scarlet will have fun with that.”

“And what are you up to, Seth?” Ewan asked, frowning as Oz moved his queen. Arago couldn’t see what that move had done, but Ewan’s face had drawn in with annoyance.

“I came to show you this,” Seth said, directing his words to Oz. He handed over a book, opening it to a bookmarked page. “Our last haul actually had soem books I hadn’t seen before, with rare content.”

“What kind of rare content?” Ewan asked while Oz was still skimming the page. He moved his king.

“The best kind,” Oz said. His eyes lit up and his face broke into a wide grin. He let out a whoop and moved his queen. “Checkmate! Look what’s been found in the Numara Galaxy!”

Oz swept the board clear, scattering pieces, and set the book down, pointing emphatically. Arago couldn’t read the text, but the image was unmistakable.

“There are unicorns in space?” Ewan asked incredulously.

“You bet your glasses they are! Where do you think they came from?”

“You never told us that before! Unicorns aren’t from Earth?” Arago almost fell over Ewan leaning closer to the book.

“Why do you think they were able to hide so well?” Seth asked.

“If you say alien technology–”

“Alien biology. Most humans just can’t perceive them.”

Oz grinned. “Only the pure of heart.”

“That’s not real,” Elena said skeptically. “There’s no way an animal – creature – can actually determine what’s in someone’s heart and–”

“You’ll find out,” Oz sang, snapping the book closed. “It’s not that far, a hop and skip past Talgrath. Once we finish trading…”

His enthusiasm was catching. “Better let the others know we’ve got a new destination,” Ewan said, lips lifting.

Arago sported an identical grin. “Next up: space unicorns.”

“Unicorns,” Elena corrected. “Since they originally came from space. From Nama–”

She cut off as Arago ruffled her hair. “Close enough!” he told her. “This is the first time you’ll be seeing one, whatever you want to call them.”

“If they consider me pure of heart.”

“If you aren’t, nobody on this ship is,” Ewan said.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’ve been avoiding eveyone since a couple days and I noticed your arm seemed paralyzed or something and I wanted to talk to you except when I grabbed said arm to stop you from running away it came out oops”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU, Seth Stringer/Ozwell "Oz" Miller

“Shit.”

That was the first thing to break the pregnant pause, Oz Miller swearing. Then his well-muscled bulk was in Seth’s face, shoving him backwards and sort of sideways with the click of a door opening and then snapping shut behind them. Broom closet, Seth realized as he nearly tripped over a bucket. He doesn’t want anyone to see.

It was tempting to ask, and the words hung on the tip of Seth’s tongue. Your arm just came off. Seth was still holding it, a heavy lump of – it wasn’t meat, apparently, but it was warm and weighed five or six kilograms.

“You didn’t tell me.” Seth’s words hung heavy in the stale air of the closet, rank with cleaning chemicals.

“You didn’t ask,” Oz replied lightly with a grin that wasn’t quite as confident as usual.

Fair, Seth had to admit, at least privately. He had never thought to ask if all of Oz’s limbs were his own. That didn’t stop the bitter taste in his mouth.

Oz watched him warily, still trying to look casual with one T shirt sleeve hanging empty. He didn’t move when Seth reached up and grabbed the collar of his shirt. He did jump when Seth ripped it apart.

“I didn’t realize we were at third base,” Oz joked, but Seth didn’t miss the panic edging into his voice.

For a moment, Seth didn’t say anything, tracing the edge of Oz’s arm, the wires sticking out of it, the warm metal. “And I didn’t realize,” he said, hand drifting to rest on Oz’s chest, over his steady heartbeat, “that I was dating a robot.”

He continued before Oz could say anything, eyes still locked on the tremor of Oz’s chest. “I thought you had been avoiding everyone lately. How worried should I be about this?” Seth waved the arm.

“It’s really nothing.” Oz finally dropped the innocent act. He took a step back, pulling away from Seth’s touch. “Ow!”

Seth swung Oz’s detached arm at him. He barely managed to block with his right hand and stood gaping at Seth.

“Did you really– Stop!” Oz flinched as Seth swung his arm at him again. “I can’t believe you would hit me with my own arm.”

“You can’t believe?” Seth hissed. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you’re a robot!”

“It never came up!”

“Don’t even try that. I–” Seth stopped. He swung Oz’s arm at him again, and this time Oz accepted the blow.

“Seth,” he said.

“Shut up.”

Oz caught Seth’s hand. He hesitated a few times before speaking. “I have a mechanical heart. And stomach and liver and everything else. I am a machine. I’m sorry I hid that from you.”

As he spoke, Seth lifted his head, staring into Oz’s eyes as if daring him to lie, to make excuses.

“I have a soul,” Oz said softly. “Long story. But even if my heart is made of metal, I still have a heart.”

“Oswell Miller, are you confessing to me in a broom closet?”

Oz laughed, holding Seth’s hand to his chest. “Looks like I am. How about it, little devil? Think you can love a machine.”

“No.” Seth grabbed Oz’s hand before he could let go. “But I think I can love you.”

“That is possibly the most romantic thing you’ve ever said,” Oz breathed, and it was only then that Seth realized they were only inches apart. In a dark broom closet, one of them shirtless. God, what a cliche.

He wasn’t sure which of them kissed first.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the mysterious twin brother of Ewan Hunt, the school's golden boy, shows up out of nowhere after he dies, it's understandable that everyone is a little wary. It turns out none should be so wary as Arago, though, because his twin brother wasn't quite the saint everyone makes him out to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU, Larry Crawford/Ewan Hunt, Larry Crawford/Arago Hunt

He transferred in junior year. Arago Hunt, twin brother of Ewan Hunt, student president and all around golden boy of the school. The whole town, if people were honest, which everyone was when it concerned Ewan. The whole town adored him, from the little old ladies to the pubescent first years.

Which was why it came as such a shock when a twin brother – identical but for the green eyes with 20/20 vision and the white hair Arago sported instead of Ewan’s blue eyed blond look – with no warning. One day Ewan was giving speeches in class, the next he was the front page headline next to the word “dead.” Arago was the tagline that followed and a ghost the first day he showed up at school.

“Settle down, everyone, settle down!” Professor Binns barked at the class. Several people had outright screamed. “He’s not a ghost! Macmillan, Trent, sit down!”

He took a deep breath, steadying himself, while Arago looked out defiantly over the class.

“I know this is a hard time for you all. And it’s a bit unusual, but…” Professor Binns paused again, taking off his glasses to clean them before resuming. “This is Arago Hunt. Hunt– Ewan Hunt’s twin brother. They were living apart, which is why he was not attending here before now.”

“Why?” someone called out.

Arago spoke for the first time with a snarl. “None of your bloody business.”

Silence dropped over the class abruptly. All the mutters and whimpers and gossip stopped as if they’d run into a wall, and Arago’s glare only sharpened.

“Yes. Well, he’s right,” Professor Binns said finally. “Class, do treat him well. You all are going through a hard time, so imagine how it must feel for… Well. There’s an empty seat over there.”

The whole time, Professor Binns had avoided addressing Arago directly. After all “Hunt” was taken. Calling him by the same name, when he had the same face? That was just too cruel. Especially when, aside from their faces, it didn’t seem like Arago had anything in common with Ewan. Where Ewan had radiated smiles and warmth, like living sunshine, Arago radiated a different kind of heat: aggression.

“There’s no way they’re twins. Maybe he really is a ghost,” one student said.

“No way, even if he were murdered, Ewan wouldn’t turn into a vengeful ghost like that.”

Which only proved how little anyone knew about Ewan.

Larry Crawford watched all of this, spinning a pen between his fingers. He had been the one to ask “why?” His face remained twisted like a dog ready to bite, matching Arago glare for glare. If anyone had a right to know, it would be him.

Ewan was a golden boy in every way. Attitude, appearance, athletics, grades. But he wasn’t the only one at the top of the class. While he didn’t care for the masses the way Ewan did, Larry matched Ewan grade for grade, score for score when it came to any other competition. He was far more temperamental than Ewan, but he knew what he was talking about. No one else could match Ewan.

But that wasn’t all. At school, Larry and Ewan did little more than pass each other in the halls. Their names followed in any discussion about grades and high ability. Prodigies, both of them. Some said they could never get along for that reason, sniping at each other from afar. Larry was the only one who knew Ewan wasn’t quite the golden boy everyone thought he was. No, he was a lot more like Larry than anyone would have guessed.

And, Larry thought, watching Arago walked out of class later gritting his teeth at the whispers and dark looks that followed him, he had a feeling Arago was the same.

He caught up with him a block from school.

“So, Arago.” Silly as it was, Larry agreed with Professor Binns. Ewan was “Hunt,” not Arago. “Are you planning on taking Hunt’s place?”

Arago stopped with his feet apart in a ready stance, chin lifting defiantly. He looked haunted but determined when he said, “Do you think I can’t?”

Larry pulled his knife smoothly from its hidden scabbard, twirling it between his fingers so that it flashed with the evening sun. “I’m not talking about his reputation at school.”

Arago narrowed his eyes, taking a step closer. “What do you know?”

The knife flashed along with Larry’s grin. “Everything.”

“It didn’t seem that way earlier,” Arago said, recalling Larry’s question in class.

“I don’t know much about your relationship with Hunt. You haven’t been around for at least five years. But I have. And I’m willing to bet,” Larry said, stepping forward and pointing the knife at Arago’s heart, tip resting lightly on his shirt, “I know more than you about Ewan.”

Arago didn’t move. Larry could almost see him swallowing back his pride, the guilt threatening to swallow him whole in turn.

“Tell me everything.”

As he spoke, Larry let his knife trail slowly down Arago’s chest. “You see, Hunt wasn’t quite the golden boy everyone else will tell you he is…”


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The odds of the children of one werewolf parent and one human parent being a werewolf are 50%. The odds of being bitten by a vampire just depends on luck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU, no ships

Kids notice things. They pick up on stuff adults don’t expect them to, stuff adults hope they won’t notice until they’re older, when maybe they won’t have to explain as much. But something like half the family growing fur and tails once a month is pretty hard to miss.

“Mom, Dad!” Arago screamed, pounding through the house. “Something’s wrong with Ewan! Mom, Dad!”

Arago screeched to a halt in the doorway to his parents room. His hand was wrapped tight around Ewan’s wrist where the brown-grey fur sprouting from his skin was starting to tickle. Ewan convulsed, bent over and whimpering in pain. Arago had practically had to drag him here from their room after it started.

“Hurts,” he whined for the umpteenth time. Tears trickled from behind his glasses when he looked up to see why Arago had stopped.

The full moon shown through the large bay window in their parents room where Mom sometimes sat with them and read books to them. She was there now in her nightgown. Her hair was loose and wild, sticking up strangely from her head. Arago saw some swing behind the folds of her nightgown, but surely Mom’s hair wasn’t that long?

She had been standing with her face buried in her hands, and when she looked up at them she revealed the face of a wolf.

“Mom?” Ewan and Arago asked with softly shaking voices.

“Boys!”

Suddenly their father swooped down, gathering Arago in his arms and lifting him up. He didn’t see her move, but suddenly Mom was there gathering up Ewan at the same time, pulling them apart. Ewan let out another high pitched whine.

“Ewan! Dad, what’s happening, what’s wrong with Ewan and Mom?” Arago sobbed. He tried to simultaneously cling to his father and reach for the rest of his family.

“Shhh, it’s fine,” Dad was whispering. Mom was making similar cooing noises at Ewan, petting his hair. Her nails were inches past the tips of her fingers and sharp. Claws, Arago thought.

Dad gently carried Arago over to the bed and sat him on his lap. They watched for the next several long minutes as Ewan continued to shake and cry, bones and muscles shifting. Every time Arago tried to ask what was going on, Dad shushed him.

“Just wait.”

Eventually, it was done. Mom had taken Ewan’s glasses off at some point. They wouldn’t sit right on the muzzle now sticking out of his face. The face of a wolf with Ewan’s blond hair and blue eyes. He had a tail, curled up between his legs, and his ears had moved to the top of his head where they would have sat tall and pointed if they weren’t pressed flat to his skull.

Mom nuzzled at his face, licking him, checking him over like she did when he got sick. Satisfied, she picked him up and carried him over to the bed where Arago and Dad were waiting.

Dad reached for her face as she sat down, brushing his fingers across her cheek. She put her own clawed hand over his, but Arago wasn’t paying attention to them. As soon as they were close enough, he lunged forward and snatched Ewan’s hand.

“Ow!” One of Ewan’s claws caught, dragging a red mark across his palm.

“Careful!” Ewan shouted, jerking his hand away from Arago. Only it didn’t come out like the word “careful.” It came out like a yelp that a dog would make if you stepped on its tail.

“You have claws!” Arago accused.

“I know!” Ewan wailed back with a canine whine.

“Boys, boys, it’s okay,” Mom soothed. She, too, didn’t speak normally, but in growls that shouldn’t have made sense except Arago knew them so well.

They were quiet for a moment. Mom continued to pet Ewan with one hand, the other folded together with Dad’s between them.

“You’re werewolves,” Arago announced when he could stand the quiet no longer.

Mom nodded.

Arago frowned up at Dad. “How come we’re not?”

“Your mom was born a werewolf long, long ago,” Dad started. Mom growled at him and Dad winked playfully. “It’s how she’s always been, but I’m just an ordinary human. We weren’t sure, when you boys were born, which you would be. Being a werewolf is like hair color, you see. You get it from your parents, but you never know which parent it’ll come from. It’s a bit complicated for you right now, but you’ll learn more about stuff like genes when you get older and can read big words like deoxyribonucleic.”

“Dee- Dixyribso-” Arago’s face screwed up in offense at the complicated word.

“Worry about it later. For now, what you need to know is that this will happen every month when the moon is full.” Dad reached across and ruffled the fur on top of Ewan’s head. “Ewan, you have to be home before nightfall when it’s the full moon. Always, no exceptions, you hear me? You have to be at home with the doors locked. Mom will be with you, so there’s nothing to be scared of. Arago and I will be here, too. Okay?”

Ewan nodded.

“Good. Now, you’re probably hungry! Let’s go downstairs and get something to eat.”

*

They wonder for years if Patchman knew. It wasn’t a full moon that night, and Patchman didn’t seem the type to stalk them for that long. He wasn’t that picky. And he’d been far more excited about Arago, weak little human Arago, over brave and strong and smart Ewan. Weak little human Arago who had to be saved by Ewan.

But he was the same creature Mom and Dad had warned them about. Their natural enemy.

“So if werewolves are real, what else is real?” Ewan asked a few days after his first transformation. “Melissa once brought in a whole book full of ‘fantastic creatures.’”

“Mrs. Tulley told Melissa unicorns aren’t real,” Arago agreed around a mouthful of toast.

“Most of them are real,” Mom said, reaching over and wiping off Arago’s chin. “Unicorns are extinct, though, like the dinosaurs. They were around a long time ago, but now they’re all gone.”

“What’s still around, then?” Ewan asked.

“Well, there are plenty of werewolves. We keep a pretty low profile since we scare humans, though. That’s what most beings that are called ‘fictional’ or ‘fantastic’ do nowadays. You’ll find fae all over the place. Don’t make any promises with them. It’s best to just stay out of their way. Same thing with dragons, but you probably won’t ever meet one. They live far away from humans. However!” Mom sternly held up a finger at them. “Don’t ever mess with vampires!”

“Vampires and werewolves are natural enemies,” Dad supplied from the stove where he was prodding at scrambled eggs. “They just don’t like each other.”

“Bunch of pale, creepy wankers,” Mom hissed, crossing her arms.

Ewan watched her with a solemn face, and Arago looked between them, stuffing more toast in his mouth.

Both of them understood the severity that night. Pale as the moon peeping out of his black cloak, dark stitches like reversed stars crisscrossing his ragged grin. Mom fought fiercely, but Patchman tossed her aside like a ragdoll. Dad didn’t last half as long and fell to the ground little more than bones.

Arago and Ewan clung to each other in their burning house after Patchman left, blood soaking them both from the deep gash down Ewan’s arm. There was so much, neither of them noticed Arago was bleeding, too.

They thought it was just grief. Arago wouldn’t eat anything. Anything they tried to give him he knocked aside, screamed if they tried to press him.

“It tastes like ash,” he confessed to Ewan one night as they lay together on Ewan’s bed. Every time it rained, they sought each other out to assuage Arago’s fears. It was raining the night their parents died.

Ewan, too, thought it was grief. That’s what the doctor said, after all. What else could it be?

“You have to eat, even if it tastes bad,” Ewan whispered to him.

“I can’t!” Arago told him wretchedly, and Ewan pulled the blankets higher around his shoulders. It seemed like Arago was always cold to the touch nowadays, and he had lost weight. He was pale and drawn and Ewan was running out of ideas.

To be continued…


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They come across a lot of interesting things on missions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU (possibly post-canon), Seth Stringer/Oswell "Oz" Miller

“It’s common iconography,” Oz explained. “You could probably explain it better than me.”

Seth traced the carving. Detailed, unusually so for the time period he had guessed this building was built in. A later addition, perhaps, or an artist who didn’t care for the popular style.

Oz’s fingers brushed his over the wings, and Seth tried to hide the way he jumped. Thankfully, Oz ignored it.

“This one is probably based off life, though.”

“Are you telling me angels and demons are real?” Seth asked, not quite as derisively as he had intended.

“The kind with halos and horns? Well, something like that.” Oz smiled, stepping backwards onto their original path. “You’ve seen fae with dragonfly wings, are feathers that different?”

They weren’t, but that wasn’t the issue and Oz knew it. Seth glared at him.

“Mission first,” Oz appeased him. “Then we can talk. Somewhere with a little less power.”

Seth swept past him and said, “I’ll bring coffee.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one thing no one thinks about is how a zombie apocalypse would affect the fae.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU, Larry Crawford/Arago Hunt

When the zombie apocalypse hit, it went about the way people expected it to. Which is to say it shocked a lot of people who had figured the whole thing impossible, vindicated roughly twenty percent of conspiracy theorists and those people who honestly prepare for the end of the world, and killed a whole lot of people regardless. What was only somewhat unexpected, yet obvious in hindsight, was the use of robots in the solution. That is, everyone still alive was downloaded into a mechanical body the virus couldn’t infect. This created its own problems, of course, but the fae were paying little attention by that time.

“You’re metal,” Arago hissed.

Larry looked at him – leaning back, shoulders up along with his eyebrows, the very picture of a surprised cat amid the green text telling him this moving form was flesh and bone and blood – and blurted out, “You’re alive.”

It took a while for both of them to calm down.

“What do you mean you’ve been alive this whole bloody time? What the hell is a fae?”

“What do you mean everyone is a robot now? Why the hell would you ever want to be made of metal?”

“Did you miss the zombie apocalypse eighty years ago?”

“Sort of? It didn’t affect my people, but living among humans kept getting harder, so I decided it was… better for all if we just kept away.”

“I thought you died before it even started!”

Arago looked away then, mouth twisting. “That was unrelated.”

“What happened?” Larry pressed.

Arago laughed, sounding a little broken and bitter. He looked at Larry, and Larry tracked his eyes going over his features. Smooth skin, full head of hair (spiked, the way he had it when he knew Arago, though he had had several hairstyles since that time). The lack of wrinkles or grey hairs.

“I stopped aging,” Arago said. “I could have glamoured myself, and I did for a while. Otherwise you’d have seen these.” He pointed a thumb at his ears. They were long and pointed at the top. Elf-like. Fae-like. “But it was more than that. I wasn’t acting the same anymore. I wasn’t the same. I became a fae.”

Larry wanted to ask if he thought they wouldn’t have accepted him if he weren’t human. If Arago thought he wouldn’t have accepted him anymore. But after so many years, Larry had gotten a better hold over his tongue, and he wondered if he truly wouldn’t have. He had been young back then, even by the old standards.

“I’m sorry,” he said instead, and watched the surprise return to Arago’s face. Then it crumpled, and Larry reached for Arago’s hand in preparation for the tears, the way he had almost a century ago.

Arago wasn’t wearing gloves. He hiccuped, and noticed a beat too late, arm jerking back. Larry didn’t let go. They both stared down at their hands.

When Arago had been human, he burned everyone he touched. He had explained once that it was because too much of the life Brionac poured out could turn from medicine into poison.

But Larry didn’t have a living body anymore. His hand was warm from the circuits firing electric signals underneath synthetic skin.

With absurd strength, Arago threw himself at Larry.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> three-sentence fic prompt: pirates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over the Garden Wall crossover, Arago Hunt/Wirt/Sara (otherwise known as Colorsplosion)

“Captain,” Sara spoke up quite suddenly one day, pausing on the way down from the watchtower for breakfast, making Wirt look up sharply at her tone of voice, “there’s a face in the water.”

“If it’s another mermaid or ghost or some spirit again–” Wirt started, throwing his hands in the air.

“It’s probably not human, judging by the rainbow, but he’s kind of cute,” Sara interrupted, and laughed at Wirt’s groan.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being King of the Summer Court doesn't make it any easier to get up in the morning, in fact, it might even make it harder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU, Seth Stringer/Arago Hunt

“It’s about time for another treaty meeting with the humans.”

Arago looked up as Seth walked in, parting the curtains around his bed like the opening of a play.

“You had to tell me that now?” he grumbled, squinting into the sudden light.

“Yes, now. I passed half a dozen humans practicing magic this morning. In the open. Didn’t I tell you before they have scientists studying it already?”

“Yeah. But they haven’t even figured out how their powers work yet, or the source,” Arago said, rubbing a hand over his face.

“We haven’t, either. It’s certainly different from ours, and it’s not new, humans have had magic in the past…” Seth bit his lip. “Awareness of the fae realm definitely had a hand in this sudden insurgence of humans with magic. Likely it played a part in past cases as well, the fairy tales that have been passed down.”

Arago peered at Seth pacing his room. He stood out sharply against the bright, warm colors of plants and warm rugs that covered every surface in his silver robes. Neither of them thought anything of dressing in the extravagant clothes expected of them, now. Not that they had protested much in the beginning, either. Arago’s growing fae nature had made the transition a smooth one, but for Seth it had been more sudden. He had chosen this life, that of fae royalty. The rules and responsibilities and the power that came with it. He hadn’t had much to give up, that was true, but it had still been a sacrifice. A calculated risk.

Arago hooked an arm around Seth’s waist the next time he passed close enough and pulled him into bed. By now, his subjects knew to leave them alone when Seth was in his private chambers.

“Breathe,” he murmured into Seth’s hair, and felt the Queen still if not relax. “Give me a minute to wake up. Then we can talk.”

“Some coffee would be far more effective than continuing to lie in bed,” Seth pointed out, but he didn’t remove himself from Arago’s hold, so Arago felt free to ignore that. He would call for breakfast in a moment and keep Seth here in his nest of bright blankets and ferns, and get him to talk, maybe. He’d been getting better at it, over the years of their reign.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some people never get a day off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU, Arago Hunt/Ewan Hunt

Ewan was still shivering when he poked Arago between the eyes, where his brows were deeply furrowed. “I’m fine,” he repeated for the tenth time. “Paramedic certified. You can’t argue with them.”

If anything, Arago’s scowl deepened, like he was ready to challenge that if given half a chance. Ewan tried not to slump, not to look any more worn than he already did. The shock blanket was honestly helping, but it couldn’t fend off the reporters. They had blocked off all exits. Larry was doing a good job of keeping them back with the help of a few uniformed officers for now. Ewan appreciated social media (much to Larry’s annoyance), but at times it made his job harder.

“Bunch of rats,” Arago had said when he first arrived and had to fight his way through them to even get to Ewan. And that was the nicest thing he’d said.

Ewan rubbed his eyes under his glasses. He felt the ambulance dip under him and warmth came around his sides as Arago settled behind him, pulling Ewan against his chest.

Ewan thought about reminding Arago that there were half a dozen cameras aimed at him and more cell phones, but most likely Arago was glaring directly at them. Ewan smiled and kept his eyes closed.

“I’ll have to-”

“No, you don’t. You weren’t a cop today, you weren’t on a case, you were just…”

“In the wrong place at the wrong time?”

Arago’s cheek came to rest on top of Ewan’s head. Ewan barely heard him murmur into his hair, “She’d probably say the opposite.”

She was long gone. The woman Ewan had rescued. She had been safely shuffled off, completely unhurt, according to the paramedic Ewan had questioned when he finally made it out of the blaze himself.

“You were grocery shopping,” Arago complained. “Who sets a market on fire? Don’t.”

Laughing, Ewan let the joke die on his tongue. He reached a hand up to ruffle Arago’s hair where his fingers caught in knots. Arago must have been woken by the call and come straight here. Ewan pulled at one until Arago whined and pulled his hand away, but he didn’t let go.

“I’m okay,” Ewan said again.

“I know,” Arago replied.

“I’m really-”

“I know. I know, but-!” Arago moved his head down to bury against Ewan’s shoulder. Their still linked hands fell to Ewan’s lap.

“I know,” Ewan whispered back.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Criminals shouldn't have children.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU, pale poly with focus on Seth Stringer/Arago Hunt

No one says it outright. Ewan and Oz make jokes and Seth occasionally looks almost concerned, but no one wants to admit it, not in front of her.

“Da has to go to work,” Arago tells her.

“Can I come with?” Elena asks.

“Not today. Stay with Seth.”

This is one of those times Seth looks almost concerned. Thoughtful in a way that reminds Arago too much of teachers. Arago nudges him and says, “Stop looking like that, you’re supposed to be watching her.” He won’t, not if he gets that look in his eyes because it means his mind is somewhere else, even if his eyes are focused on Elena. And that makes Arago oddly nervous, for her to be the center of Seth’s deep thoughts. He stops, says “Hey” and waits for Seth to turn his attention to him. Arago doesn’t know what he’s going to say until it comes out, and what comes out is, “I trust you.”

Seth smiles and it’s that gentle one reserved for Arago and family. He doesn’t tell Arago that those we trust can still hurt us, knows he wouldn’t understand the quotes that come to mind. Arago does trust him, love him, even though he can’t understand everything that Seth thinks.

There is a man waiting to be interrogated in a hidden location. Elena, despite everything else she is, is the child of a criminal. She is surrounded by criminals. She is playing with blocks meant for toddlers with different faces on them – smiling, angry, sad.

Seth looks back at Arago and puts a hand on his arm. “Go. I won’t look away.”


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> things you said that made me feel like shit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon-compliant, Larry Crawford/Arago Hunt

He’s not the first to say it. But it’s the first time he’s said it.

They’ve never gotten along. More than anyone else, Larry refused to give Arago a chance. But he was never “Ewan’s poor brother” or “Ewan’s replacement.” Larry never expected that from him. Arago could deal with the arguments easier than the snide comments. At least Larry fought back.

“WHAT DO YOU KNOW?” Arago yelled, drawing the attention of several other officers. Rio was already looking at them, looking stunned. Arago could feel his blood, hot shame and anger, rising. He wanted to cry. Rio stood there and didn’t say anything, and that made it worse, somehow. He could feel people beginning to stare, Larry still with his hand leaning on the desk, resolute.

“More than you think,” he growled.

“He’s my brother!”

Larry’s voice rose as he spoke, getting into the roll of arguing, “Yeah, and where were you the past five years? Off playing vigilante? How well did that work out, Arago?”

Arago hardly heard anything past hte first sentence. That hit home like a twisting knife in his gut. Did he know Ewan? The Ewan who had been about to be promoted, the youngest sergeant in MET history? Ewan who was still chasing Patchman, but here with the force of Scotland Yard behind him? Perfect Ewan who died a hero, not because he caught murderers, though he did that too; he helped people. Everyone knew Ewan, loved him, perfect Ewan, like he’d always been. Someone Arago never understood then, so what made him think he did now?

Arago stormed out of the room. He kept going, out of the station, breathing hard in hopes his eyes would stop stinging. He heard Larry call for him to “get back here,” and then footsteps like he was being followed. At that point he ran.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seth's parents are nerds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pre-canon, OC-centric, Bryan Stringer/Selena Stringer

“Why do they call them Freedom Fries?” Selena whispered across the dirty diner booth, as if it were some great secret that should not be spoken aloud.

“Life, liberty, and justice for all. Land of the free. Land of the French fry,” Bryan answered, holding up one thin cut slice of golden, salted potato. Way too much salt, but that was his fault, not the diner’s. The rest of his food he could blame on them. Bryan pointed the fry at his wife. “But not from carbohydrates. None of us are free from those.”

Selena reached across the table to slap his arm and steal his fry. “That’s not an answer, Mr. Genius.” She said it with pride, though, and Bryan couldn’t help but return that with nothing but what he was sure was a dopey smile.

Here they were, somewhere in the wild city streets of America, at a diner that maybe hadn’t seen better days but could certainly use them. The whole trip had been rather a mess, with delayed flights and mistaken hotel bookings. That was why they had escaped in the first place, to this tiny place boasting it’s famous “Freedom Fries.”

“Why are they French fries anyway? This is the most American thing I can think of,” Bryan said, popping another fry in his mouth.

“French is a name.” Selena rolled her eyes when Bryan gave her a wide-eyed I-would-have-never-guessed look. “A man named French invented them. I think he was from Germany, actually.”

“Well, that’s just too many countries to be involved in the invention of this little old thing. Who decided chips should ever be this tiny? This is an atom of a potato, just one. Okay, maybe fifteen.” Bryan rummaged in the little basket. “But they certainly weren’t ‘free,’ either.”

Selena stole another fry, but this time she fed it to Bryan. “No, but breakfast tomorrow will be. Right?”

“Yes, the association has that all taken care of.”

“Are you ready?” Selena asked.

Bryan nodded. It was the reason they were here, all the way across the pond, for this convention. Some big names from all over the world, all gathered in universal nerdery.

“Have I told you you are the best plus one ever?”

“Yes. I love you, too,” Selena told him, and Bryan had to grin at his wife again.

“Happy anniversary.”


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary Poppins was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pre-canon, no ships

The problem with having more than one kid was this when one got sick, so, inevitably, did the other. Maybe if they didn’t stick quite so close to one another, but neither Elle nor Abe Hunt were going to tell their sons to not get along.

“No way!”

Abe winced sympathetically as his son’s voice carried down the hall. Elle was trying to give Arago medicine. Ewan had taken his without complaint and currently was dropping off to sleep with his head on Abe’s lap, eyes on the TV playing Mary Poppins.

“Arago, you won’t get better if you don’t take the medicine!” Elle’s voice grew louder and closer, just preceding Arago shooting into the room. He vaulted over the coffee table. Elle came in after him and there was a brief standoff. Arago had a pretty determined expression despite his runny nose and blotchy red cheeks. “Look at how peacefully Ewan is sleeping,” Elle said while Arago dove behind the couch.

“It tastes like—like arse!” Arago shouted, shoving himself into hiding where Elle couldn’t reach.

Elle gasped. “Who taught you that word?”

“Nobody!”

Elle made a lunge for Arago, glaring at her husband as she groped uselessly behind the couch.

“I’m tied down,” Abe told her, pointing to Ewan. Just then, their quiet son spoke.

“Have you tried sugar?”

“What?” Elle stood up, and Abe looked down at Ewan.

“What do you mean by that?”

Ewan pointed at the TV. On screen, Mary Poppins was just finishing singing, “For a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down, the medicine go down. Just a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down in a most delightful way.”

“How about that, Arago, will you take your medicine with a spoonful of sugar?” Abe asked.

The top of Arago’s head appeared over the far end of the couch. His eyes were bleary, but suspicious. “How big of a spoon.”

“A teaspoon,” Elle said, crossing her arms.

Arago bargained, “Can I have two?”

“You can have one.”

“No deal.” He disappeared behind the couch again. Elle made a frustrated gesture.

“Alright, alright, you can have two. Then you have to lay down with Dad and Ewan, okay?”

It took a moment’s thought, but finally there was a soft “Okay” and Arago came out.

“Okay.” Elle took his hand and led Arago to the kitchen. They returned only a minute later with Arago’s face freshly cleaned and moving from sick-grouchy to tired-grouchy.

Ewan held out his hand and Arago accepted it, climbing over him to squish between his brother and the back of the couch. Ten minutes later, he was snoring softly.

“Why aren’t you asleep yet?” Elle asked Ewan. She had seated herself at their feet and reached over to smooth Ewan’s hair away from his face. She smiled at Abe to tell him his fever had gone down.

“Shhh,” Ewan said. “Movie’s not over yet.” He almost made it to the end.

“Five minutes short,” Abe whispered. He leaned over his sons to give his wife a kiss.

“The medicine should keep them down for a few hours,” Elle told him.

“Well, I guess I’m not going anywhere. Night in?”

“I’ll get coffee.”

A sleepy voice said, “Now that needs sugar.”


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Times Arago called Jason by his full name instead of just Jason

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heroes of Olympus crossover, Arago Hunt/Nico di Angelo (but only in the background)

It’s on their second meeting that they exchange names.

“Arago Hunt.”

“Jason Grace.”

Arago repeats it to make sure he has it right, rolling the sounds off his tongue as if he can physically taste them. Their first meeting didn’t leave them time for introductions. Jason tastes like sweet bread, but Grace tastes like chocolate. He calls him Jason because they know each other too intimately, already, for last names. Arago thinks so, and he’s trying to follow American customs, and someone told him they only use first names. Jason wants to call him Hunt at first, but Arago says no.

*

“Jason Grace!” is a scolding, is righteous fury, is worry turned into anger because Jason is still alive to be angry at. Jason wonders why he cares, wonders how Arago doesn’t love the whole world for how quickly he gets attached. He tries not to wonder if it’s just him. (Him and Nico and the people Arago still hesitates to mention.)

*

“Jason Grace” is gentle. It’s said with a smile, in direct contrast to the last time Jason heard Arago use his full name, and so he can’t help smiling back.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Birds of all feathers flock together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU, Arago Hunt/Madhushri "Mads" Sahir  
> Another bird/winged AU

"So why did I have to punch that guy?"  
Madhushri Sahir had to appreciate the fact that her boyfriend wasn’t even phased, just shaking his hand to get rid of the sting. The other guy was flat on his back, wings flinching visibly in protest to being landed on.  
“What the fuck, mate! Who the hell even are you, friend of this freak over here?” he spat. Literally spat, along with flecks of blood. Must have bitten his tongue when Arago punched him. Good, Madhushri thought. Arago looked down at the guy, disgust creeping into his expression.  
“Got a problem with her?” he snarled.  
“He’s a bleedin’ tranny!” the guy said, but he was obviously catching on to his situation.  
Arago cracked his knuckles. “She,” he spat back, “is my wife.”  
“What?”  
“Now get out of my sight before I make you.”  
“You’re as much of a freak as him! Look at his feathers, no way he’s a fuckin’ girl.”  
Arago grabbed the man by the front of his shirt. He hoisted him up into the air, spreading his wings threateningly. The creep’s feathers puffed up, but his seagull wings were nothing compared to Arago’s osprey.  
“Walk away before I arrest you for harassment,” Arago growled. “If you even make it as far as the station.”  
“Are you a cop? What the hell, this is abuse of power! I--” He cut off and shrunk back from Arago’s renewed snarl. “Fine, get off me!”  
Arago dropped him, and the guy staggered back. “Freaks!” he threw once more over his shoulder as he ran down the street.  
“Thank you, love,” Madhushri said, leaning on Arago’s shoulder. His wing dropped around her along with his arm, and he pulled her close.  
“Anytime,” he said, and she smiled at the stern look on his face.  
They stood for a moment, pressed together.  
“But,” Arago spoke up, turning to look down at Madhushri, “normally, wouldn’t you have just knocked his teeth out yourself?”  
Madhushri sighed. That was very true. “I was in a rush,” she explained. She waved a hand in front of him. “My nails are still wet.”  
“Ah. Okay,” Arago said. He nodded, then tucked his head into Madhushri’s hair. “I wouldn’t have minded waiting for you, you know,” he muttered.  
“I know.” Madhushri turned into his face until he pulled back and kissed her. “I love you.”  
Arago ducked his head back into her hair. “I love you, too.”


End file.
